Coming Home
by Katmarajade
Summary: Claire left La Push four years ago to see the world. After years of traveling around the globe she realizes that the only place she really wants to be is back where she started. Companion to So Far Away. Q/C Please read and review!
1. Chapter 1

Welcome to my Quil/Claire fic! This is a companion fic to the one-shot _So Far Away, _a Quil one-shot. This is about Claire-- it's not quite as angsty, because she's younger and also does not know about the imprint. Please read and give me feedback! I would REALLY appreciate it! If you find errors, let me know. Also, formatting tips would be appreciated-- I'm not very good at getting this to look right. Sorry! Hope it reads ok. Read, enjoy (fingers crossed), and review!

**Coming Home**

Claire James wheeled her ever present black roll-aboard suitcase into her hotel room at the Hilton Narita in Tokyo. A quick glance around told her that the room looked exactly like any other hotel room she'd been in, whether in Seoul, Brussels, Dubai, Lima, or Miami. With a sigh she deadbolted the door and flung her suitcase onto the luggage rack, unzipping it with one practiced motion. She quickly shimmied out of the navy polyester dress, nylons, and heels before tossing her airline ID, watch, and pearl earrings onto the desk.

She had just finished working a sixteen hour flight, and her business class passengers, mostly overly self-important upgrades, had been ridiculously needy. There had been the jittery Japanese writer who had divided his time evenly between manic bouts of typing on his fire engine red laptop and ringing the flight attendant call button—complaining about the teriyaki sauce used in his preferred dinner entrée and the slightly wilted edge to his salad greens, and demanding his drink be freshened every two sips. The pair of slightly inebriated Midwestern businessmen who had lounged importantly in their seats like they were on royal thrones, obviously ecstatic about the upgrades they had scored, had proved even more irritating. They had waved their bloody marys about dramatically with puffed out chests and an air of self-satisfied arrogance and little boy glee. Despite their wedding rings, they had pinched her ass no less than three times apiece and openly ogled her breasts, well cloaked as they were in the unflattering polyester frock her company called a uniform. The worst passenger had been the puny teenage punk rocker who kept throwing banana peels at her—he must have brought an entire bushel on board with him! Apparently, just handing his rubbish to her for disposal was too easy and watching the slimy peels bounce off her chest was more entertaining. She thanked heaven that she had 36 hours before she needed to be back at Narita for her return flight and started to fill the bathtub with hot water, tossing in some bath salts she kept in her toiletry bag for nights like these.

She truly loved her job as a flight attendant. She loved the flexibility, the amount of time off she had (12-16 days a month!), the layovers scattered over six continents, the interesting people, the airplanes, the mad rush of the busy airports, and especially how this job had given her the opportunity to fulfill a lifelong dream of seeing the world. Some days the hustle and bustle, the inevitable delays, and disgruntled passengers became too much for her though, and she thought back on the simpler life she had led on a quiet Indian reservation back in Washington.

It was the deaths of her entire immediate family that could be labeled the catalyst for her leaving La Push four years ago. She had once had a little sister, though the memories of her were unbearably dim, who had died of a heart defect at the age of two. Claire could not remember much about her own flesh and blood sibling, but she could recall the air of depression and desperation that had permeated the house afterward. Her parents had been understandably devastated, and much of her time was spent with a boy named Quil, who showed up regularly in her memory after that. She still was not sure how he had gotten involved with the family, but suspected that he had come to help out after the death of her sister. She never wanted to ask him, not wanting to know for sure that he had started spending time with the James family out of pity or a misguided sense of obligation. Not knowing for sure allowed her to believe he had been around because he had genuinely liked her and wanted to spend time with her. He had certainly be a stabilizing force for Claire and her mother after Mr. James had collapsed from a fatal brain aneurysm at her fifteenth birthday dinner. Mrs. James had been inconsolable in her grief, refusing to leave her bed for a month after the funeral, until faithful and inhumanly patient Quil finally brought her around enough to realize she still had a daughter who needed her. He'd been a permanent fixture in her existence, something she had never questioned. When her mother had informed her that Claire would soon lose her too, this time from a long, drawn out battle with terminal cancer, Quil had been the only thing keeping her quasi-sane.

Slouching down further into the comforting bubbles, Claire allowed her mind to flash briefly back to those stressful college years after her mother's announcement. Other girls were living in dorms, giggling about boys, drinking at frat parties, and worrying only about psychology exams and the efficacy of birth control. She attended classes at a university three hours away, because her mother was adamant about her pursuing a degree. When Mrs. James laid out the "my greatest dream is to see my little girl graduate college before I die," guilt trip, how could she refuse? Her mother, amazing woman that she was, had only wanted Claire to have some semblance of normalcy and not to be stuck in La Push taking care of her ailing parent twenty-four hours a day. It was a noble goal, and Claire had truly wanted to further her studies, so she allowed herself to be forced into classes.

Focusing on the foreign languages had been therapeutic—languages were the one thing in life that always made sense to her. Language was beautiful, flowing, and fluctuating, and she loved the possibilities that language represented. Words could be combined in an infinite number of ways to express anything. In all other fields her academic aptitude had been mediocre, with barely passing grades in every subject save English, Quileute, and Spanish. (the only foreign language taught at the Quileute Tribal School) In those she had flourished, so majoring in European languages had seemed appropriate. The ease with which she absorbed the languages was a godsend, as she had had so little time to study with her mother as sick as she was.

Quil had always kept her car running smoothly and stocked with audio books in whatever language she was focusing on— commuting to Seattle left her with many hours alone in the car, so the audio books were perfect. _Lord of the Rings_ in German had been a little long and melodramatic for her taste, but by the end of the epic series she had been conversing fluidly with a pitch perfect Hessen region accent copied from the narrator, much to the chagrin of her professor who had yet to see her complete any of the tedious German 101 workbook assignments. She had been allowed to bypass most of the base classes using this technique, starting the more advanced grammar, usage, culture, and literature courses earlier on. She had graduated in three years, narrowly fulfilling her mother's wish. She had not even participated in the ceremony, for within hours of finishing her last exam, her mother had taken a turn for the worse. She had sped home in time to say her final good-byes before her mother, her last remaining family member, had slipped away from her. Having had years to prepare for the loss had not eased the pain in any way, and she had found herself even more lost than ever. Quil had stood by, his strong and constant presence reassuring, but ultimately even he, who she had loved more than any person left on the earth, could not rid her of the ache inside.

Her languages had failed her and she could not find words to express what she was feeling in any one of them, which had frustrated her more than anything. She had wondered wildly if there was some sort of genetic curse intent on wiping out her entire line. The love and sympathy that radiated from everyone around her had become stifling, and she had longed to get out where no one knew that she was a genetic time bomb and to see anything and everything that she could. She could still remember the big blank book Quil had given her years ago onto whose pages she had so carefully pasted pictures of castles and cathedrals and towers and mountains that she had dreamed of seeing firsthand. Looking back, it seemed childish and far too simple. But travel she had—no one could say now that she had not experienced the world, good and bad.

The deaths of her parents had left her with a small inheritance, though much of it had been spent on treatments and hospice for her mother. Claire had not cared about the money one way or another, but, about six months after she had moved, Renesmee Cullen had shown up in New York City, and they had rekindled a sort of friendship. The Cullens, still feeling grateful—and warm and fuzzy as rock hard freezing cold vampires could be—to Claire for having spent time with Renesmee during her childhood years, (Renesmee had not been allowed around many human children, because of her rapid inhuman development. Claire, used to the strange and mythical, had been an approved playmate) had insisted that she let Alice handle the funds Claire had in her savings account. Claire had flat out refused to have them supplement their own funds, but had eventually acquiesced to Alice's stock market expertise. The money had accumulated at an insane rate—having a fortune teller handle ones portfolio was apparently a lucrative venture. After several intense discussions making sure that the gift-happy Cullens were not siphoning money from their own accounts into hers, she no longer kept tabs on the money. There was always plenty available in the account, which had aided in her extensive array of traveling goals. Traveling for work was one thing, but one did not get time enough to fully experience a city. It was using those funds that Claire had traveled to dozens of countries and stored up a lifetime's worth of stories.

Still lazing in the tub, Claire sniffed. Sure, she could start a story with "this one time when I was camelback racing in Egypt…" or "once when I was being chased across Warsaw by four Polish policemen who were convinced that I was the British serial murderer the entire European Union was hunting…" Stories she definitely had, and she would not trade them for the world, but she still felt empty. She had thought that time and experience would remedy it, but no matter how far she ventured, she never felt whole. It was a troubling feeling, but she had become a master at pushing the idea aside, though it continued to niggle at her subconscious.

She finally managed to drag herself out of the now tepid bathwater and wrap her body in a lush white towel, the faint smell of bleach tickling her nose. She fleetingly thought about calling Adam, but he was currently en route to South Africa if she was remembering correctly, so his phone would be off. They had a huge calendar on the kitchen wall with their schedules for the month laid out, but by the fourth day of her trip she tended to forget exactly when and where her roommate was flying.

Claire had met Adam, another flight attendant, when they had worked a flight to Copenhagen together. There had been a huge group of middle-aged American tourists in matching yellow t-shirts heading over to Europe to reconnect with their Danish roots. They had spent two hours in a group sing-a-long, causing the rest of the coach cabin to hurriedly insert headphones and earplugs. (Which she and Adam had passed out with abandon to anyone not clad in blinding yellow) The Danes on board flinched noticeably whenever the group would particularly butcher an otherwise pleasant Danish folksong. The group had taken up almost the entire coach cabin of our Boeing 747 and was an unstoppable force, fazed by absolutely nothing. The glares and snide comments bounced off them like so many rubber balls. Adam and she, the only ones willing to deal with the yellow-shirted sing-a-long posse, had bonded over the experience and been fast friends ever since.

She and Adam understood each other effortlessly, which was a complete shock for both of them. Neither was exactly gifted in the field of interpersonal relationships.

Claire could communicate with people at work and on the plane—but in her personal life, she had _no_ relationships at all. She found most people utterly mystifying and/or inane, could not relate to them, and had absolutely no desire to make an effort to befriend people she found tiresome. (i.e. the vast majority of humanity) The girls she had lived with when she first moved to New York City could not comprehend her lack of social life: why she had no boyfriend, was not dating, and/or was not actively seeking a pilot to sex up in her free time. She had no answer for them. She was not looking for someone, but neither was she _not_ looking. It was just that their faces all ran together and no one elicited even the barest hint of interest out of her. The girls told her that she was dead inside. She silently wondered if they were right. Then she had met Adam.

Adam had no family and no friends—did not seem to want them. He explained that his parents had died a long time ago and the one true love of his life had died eight years ago, and after losing Michael, Adam had closed himself off from everyone. He was a very attractive man, about six feet tall, slim but strong, with light brown hair and blue eyes surrounded by too many worry lines for someone only thirty years old. Men and Women hit on him constantly, but, like Claire, he claimed that their faces all ran together. The women were either oblivious to his disinterest in the entire XX-chromosomal category or just gluttons for rejection. The men, in Adam's words, were just shadows; none even came close to comparing to what he had lost.

Adam and Claire were a rather pathetically asexual duo. Neither of them had even the faintest interest in anyone—platonic or romantic, and it was a bit refreshing for her to be around someone who never bothered her about that aspect of her life. Adam was independently wealthy (another reason women threw themselves at him shamelessly) from several very successful business ventures he had made in his "youthful glory days" as he called his early twenties with Michael, flirting with the Fortune 500 bracket. With those funds he owned a great apartment in uptown (one far too expensive for a normal flight attendant salary) and, once he had heard about the crowded crash pad Claire was using as a home base, he insisted that she move into the second bedroom of his spacious (for New York City) abode. It was the perfect solution for both of them, and they had become extremely close over the past three years. The friendship was effortless and beautiful, and Claire was more grateful for it than she could ever tell. The only other person still alive that she had ever felt that close to had been Quil Ateara. Thinking of Quil made her shiver involuntarily, and she quickly donned her nightgown, pulled the blackout curtains over the window to hide the smog dulled sunshine, and crawled under the fluffy oft-bleached duvet.

Ah, Quil—that was one aspect of her life she still found disconcertingly frustrating, even after not seeing him for four years. She sent him postcards though, which was much more than she did for anyone else from her past. She just scribbled a handful of lines every few weeks about where she was and how she was doing. She knew somewhere deep in her gut that he would want to know. He never wrote back—she did not think she really wanted him to. She wanted to be separate from her past for a while, keeping her new life free of the old memories, both good and bad. She wanted, for once, just to be Claire… to figure out what exactly she wanted and who she should be. She could not help but roll her eyes at how cliché that sounded.

It was more than just that though. The death of her family had made remaining in La Push, surrounded by always perfect Quil and the disgustingly cheery werewolf sect with their doting wives and families, simply unbearable. She had struck out on her own, wanting to be around people who did not know her past trauma and drama. So far, it had been a good ride. If only she could eliminate that lonely feeling, the longing for something she could not identify. Lately it had been nudging her soul with frustrating regularity. Unfortunately, she had no idea what she was yearning for or how to heal the chasm of loneliness. She would have to talk to Adam about it soon. With that, she drifted off to a dreamland with a beach of rainbow colored rocks and warm arms around her, making her whole.

More to come! Please review and let me know what you think! Thanks! :)


	2. Chapter 2

A/N Here's chapter 2 where Claire finally gets some sense knocked into her and figures it out! This is my first time with a lot of dialogue, so I'm a little nervous about how well it reads. Hope it reads like a believable conversation and makes sense! Let me know! Enjoy!

**Coming Home **

**Chapter 2**

Claire weaved with graceful expertise through the crowd of passengers in the terminal, mentally berating a tour group whose moronic leaders had called a group huddle smack dab in the middle of the line of traffic. Apparently people's brains vanished the moment they stepped through the metal detectors at security. She gave herself a mental shake, knowing that she would not be this irritable if she had not just finishing a six day trip and had not been stuck in San Francisco for six extra hours, because a crazy passenger punched the emergency exit sign into smithereens during a fit of rage after being told he could not keep his yapping Chihuahua on his lap for take off. She finally reached the taxi queue and gratefully allowed the driver to stow her bags in the trunk, crawling into the backseat and sighing in relief to be finally heading home.

"Claire?" Adam's voice rang out as she unlocked the front door, stepping into their shared Uptown apartment.

"Honey, I'm home!" She called out weakly, quickly dragging her suitcase back to her bedroom. After shedding her uniform in favor of yoga pants and a sweatshirt, she wandered into the kitchen to see what Adam was creating. Whatever he was making, it smelled delicious.

"Welcome back. I made sangria—it's on the counter." Claire moaned, which Adam correctly took as a 'thank you—you are an angel!' and poured herself a glass, spearing an extra strawberry to shove in her mouth before speaking.

"I'm so glad to be home!" She declared fervently, making Adam chuckle.

"Well, I was going to wait until after dinner, but I suppose I can give you your birthday present now…" he teased. Her twenty-fifth birthday had been several weeks earlier, but they had both been working opposite schedules, so they had planned to celebrate when they were both home from their respective trips. Sensing his excitement, Claire immediately agreed and was told to wait in the living room with her eyes closed. Adam dashed out and returned moments later, handing her a huge flat rectangle wrapped in cheesy birthday gift wrap with a big red bow in the middle. She oohed and ahhed appropriately before ripping the paper off and staring in shock. She kept two small pictures on her desk: one of her with her parents and one of seven of the pack members in a playful group pose with Jacob holding Embry in a headlock, Sam and Seth doubled over in hysterics, Paul shoving Jared, and Quil front and center with a cocky grin. Adam had managed to enlarge the picture of the pack to poster size, those beautiful, familiar russet skinned faces staring back at her larger than life. Quil's face, closer to life size than she had seen it in years, grinned at her causing her stomach to twist in an unfamiliar fashion. She glanced back at Adam.

"Thank you. This is incredible. I was just thinking this past week about how much I had missed these guys. This is perfect, truly. Thank you so much." Adam smiled, satisfied with her response.

"They really are freakishly good looking." He said with a slight smirk. Claire just rolled her eyes in response. They had discussed several times how growing up surrounded by tall, gorgeous, impossibly well built men had ruined her for life—men in the real world just could not live up. Of course, she could not tell Adam that the reason they were so huge was that they morphed into horse-sized wolves to save the tribe from bloodthirsty vampires; he merely thought that she came from line of unbelievably good genes.

They dined on Adam's latest culinary creation, pasta and vegetables in some kind of tangy sauce. They then proceeded to refill their sangria glasses, taking the pitcher with them into the living room as they settled comfortably into opposite ends of the couch. Claire, with two glasses of sangria coursing through her system, started relating the feelings of emptiness that she had been experiencing recently. She talked for a half hour, wondering out loud what was wrong with her that she could not seem to find what she wanted—that she did not even know what it was that she wanted in the first place. Adam let her talk until her rant finally trailed off. He fixed her with a long, appraising look, causing her to squirm uncomfortably in her seat and stab halfheartedly at the wine-soaked fruit at the bottom of her glass.

"Tell me more about Quil from back home." He finally said, Claire's surprised eyes flying up to meet his at the apparent non sequitur. When he continued to gaze at her expectantly, she answered hesitantly, unsure where this was going.

"Quil Ateara is a guy I grew up with back in La Push. He's quite a bit older than I am—come to think of it, I don't actually know how old he even is…" she trailed off for a moment before continuing, "He was a really great friend to our family—helped me more than I can say after my dad died and then again with the whole cancer situation and my mom. He would sit with her while I went to classes, kept my car running, always got me silly presents that were always just perfect. He was the dearest friend I had back there—I loved him more than anyone else, because he and I just understood each other so well. It was sort of like what we have here," she gestured vaguely between the two of them, "but _not_, but I'm not sure what exactly the difference is. He really loved my family…" Claire trailed off, looking over at Adam who just raised an eyebrow expectantly.

With a roll of her eyes, Claire continued, "I think I sort of had a crush on him during those last few years, but I was so absorbed in school and my mom that I never gave it much thought. It was a silly little thing anyway—I mean, you've seen pictures of the guy!" Claire flung a hand out wildly, indicating the enlarged photo of a beaming Quil, her forehead crinkling as she frowned at the picture.

"I still write to him, you know. I don't write to anyone else, even my aunt, but I always felt… I don't know, compelled to write to him, just to let him know I was still alive or something. Stupid, I know. He doesn't write back or anything—I never even gave him my address. He probably doesn't even care, probably is married with three kids of his own to chase after by now, I don't even know." Claire shrugged and looked back up at Adam, her expression a little desperate.

Adam met her gaze, assessing the pleading look, and sighed. "Do you actually want to discuss this, Claire? Because I think you know exactly what the problem is, you just don't want to admit it. Hell, I've known pretty much since we met, but we had this tacit "don't speak" policy going on, so I let it go. Maybe that was selfish—I didn't want you turning the tables and bugging me about my life… I figured you just needed to get out, travel, and process things. But you've been living here for over three years, been all around the world, and nada, so I'm not real sure what you want me to do here."

The crinkled lines on her forehead deepened, "What are you talking about, Adam?"

"Seriously, come on, Claire." He just stared at her like she was missing something extremely important, waiting for her to figure it out. "You asked why and I answered." He settled back into the cushions to wait for her to catch up mentally.

Claire glared at him, frantically reviewing their conversation, trying to put together the pieces. She hated when he made her feel so stupid. She had been talking about being lonely, feeling like there was something out there that she desperately wanted but could not identify, she had poured out all sorts of serious, deep emotions—not something she did on a regular basis. All Adam had done was ask about Quil, and she could not see how her life back in La Push had anything to do with what she was feeling now, when she was so far removed from that part of her past.

A deluge of conflicting images and thoughts flashed through her consciousness. Wanting to get out of La Push, away from everything. Throwing herself into work and traveling without taking a moment to think about anything she was feeling. That aching hole of loneliness that seemed to eat at her soul from somewhere deep inside. A deep almost primal longing for something she knew that she desired above all else. Frustration with herself for not knowing what it was that she even wanted. Irritation with Adam for making her dig through the chaos of her own brain.

How did Quil even relate to this? Adam had claimed there was a connection, but what? Some old friendship? Memories of Quil that she had kept carefully locked away for years began to sneak out and mingle with her thoughts. Quil spinning her in circles, making her laugh hysterically—something she had not done in years, probably since her mother's death. Quil's warm, strong embrace as he held her together and kept her from falling into pieces as she sobbed at her mother's funeral. That electric smile of his that had always seemed to increase in wattage whenever he looked at her. The intense, unfathomable look that he sometimes gave her during those last few years, like he was seeing all the way into her soul; the one he would quickly change when if she caught him looking. The slightly crazed look in his eyes when she told him about leaving La Push, before his quick recovery and smile. How he had always made her want to be a better, stronger, more capable person to live up to his idealistic view of her brilliance and potential.

Feelings and memories battled in the foreground of her mind, with hazy dream images interspersed. A fuzzy image of warm arms holding her together and banishing the ache of loneliness. A sea of colored pebbles that seemed to hold a message, trying to show her what it was she was missing. Images flew through her mind at warp speed, faster than she could even comprehend them, confusing her and frustrating her. She knew that the answer was right there, just out of reach. If only she could connect the dots, solve the mystery spelled out in those teasing, taunting rocks. The feeling of those warm arms blocking out that questioning, seeking, yearning ache inside hit her again, stronger than ever. A nearly forgotten memory flung itself wildly into her line of thought, and she gasped out loud at the image of her and Quil sitting on First Beach back in La Push, surrounded by multi-hued stones, his heated arm wrapped around her in the cooling evening air, blocking the chill. Her eyes widened comically, and she lurched up and off the couch, the remnants of her sangria flung onto the carpet.

"Oh my god!" Claire shrieked, comprehension suddenly rushing over her in a crushing wave. "I'm in love with Quil! What the…" the panicked litany of curses that followed spanned an impressive array of languages, and some of the sentiments would have made even seasoned sailors blush. Adam fought back a smile watching his normally emotionally cut off, stoic roommate flail about in vulgar hysterics. After about five minutes of pacing back and forth, grinding the wine laden fruit deeper into the now ruined carpeting, she paused to suck in a ragged breath.

"What the hell?! You knew about this? How? How did I _not _know this? This is completely insane. I haven't seen him in years! He's, like, fifteen years older than me! My god, he's probably married or something. He probably thinks about me as a prodigal baby sister! Not good, not good, not good!" Claire was babbling and nearing incoherency by this point, "What is _wrong_ with me, Adam! I'm freaking out like a bloody teenager—I didn't even freak out like when I _was_ a teenager. Could you _be _any more melodramatic, Claire? Ugh!" With a groan she threw her arms in the arm one last time and collapsed next to him on the couch.

"Breathe, Claire." He advised, making a truly valiant effort to hold back a smirk.

"Yes, breathing. Good plan." Claire's hysterics seemed to have ebbed, and her voice no longer held the panicked high pitched edge of her earlier outburst. "This is completely ridiculous, you know. I've been unknowingly pining for something, which turns out to mean I've been harboring a super secret unrequited crush on my former babysitter and family friend! This is sick—I should be on Jerry Springer. Is that show still on? Oh, god, this is a nightmare."

"Nightmare might be a bit of an overstatement, Claire. This is not that bad. So you're in love with someone from back home. You're twenty-five years old, not fifteen—the age difference is no longer a very big deal. You've been in love with this guy for years, albeit unaware. Don't you think you at least need to talk to him? Even if he's taken or not interested, you'll at least have taken a shot. Then you can move on. You're not going to be able to until you talk to him though—and by talk, I do not mean three sentences on a postcard. You said it yourself, you don't see anyone else—they all run together. I know that better than anyone. I would do anything if I had even the faintest whisper of a chance to have something that real again. My chance is gone, but yours still has a hint of possibility. Don't you want to at least find out? You'll always regret it if you don't." Adam leaned back again, spent from his rushed delivery. "Heartfelt persuasion speech over. Just think about it."

Claire sat in silence, focusing only on deep, even breathing, for an uncomfortably long time. "You're right," she finally spoke, "I have to go back. I want to go home. Gosh, I never thought I would say that, but this life just isn't right anymore. I don't want to be here anymore. I don't want to fly around the world." She gave a brief laugh colored with a touch of hysteria. "The only place I want to be is right back where I started. I spent twenty years wanting to get out of there and now all I want to do is go back!"

**More to come! Song rec for this chapter: Who Says You Can't Go Home by Bon Jovi! Let me know what you think! I'd love your feedback. Hope you enjoyed it!


	3. Chapter 3

Coming Home Chapter 3

And now, what you've all been waiting for! The first part of this chapter took me forever—it was really hard to transition from NY to La Push! But once Claire hit WA, the story just wrote itself! I like this chapter a lot, and I really hope you do too! Read, enjoy, and review! Thanks!

****

The weeks after Claire's sudden epiphany passed in a whirlwind of chaotic upheaval. She and Adam had continued their epic discussion for hours, plotting out the best course of action. Now that she recognized that inner longing for what it was, she knew she needed to do something about it—and soon.

She held no foolish notions that her feelings would be reciprocated; no, she was fully prepared for the sweet and apologetic rejection. She could practically see Quil's face forming the words, forehead creased with worry about her hurt feelings. It did not matter though, because something inside of her had woken up, and she could practically feel La Push calling her back.

Adam had decided to use Claire's departure as an excuse to throw the towel in on his airline career as well. He confessed that he had been thinking about it for awhile but had been too complacent or too scared to leave New York City.

Claire had not thought her own plan through extensively, for her focus was solely on getting back to La Push. Her very sizeable savings account, thanks in large part to her clairvoyant stockbroker, gave her a great deal of flexibility. She could quit her airline job, which she had no qualms about doing, and figure things out from there. She could live quite comfortably off her savings (especially considering the low cost of living in La Push) for some time, and she would cross the employment bridge when she came to it.

So the two of them had settled on the brilliant plan of traveling to Washington together. Adam was oddly excited about seeing the Reservation and Claire's childhood home. She wondered if the promise of large, muscular, gorgeous men had any bearing on his enthusiasm or if it were simply a serendipitous windfall. Understood, and left pointedly unspoken, was that he wanted to be there for her if she needed him to help pick up the pieces of her probably-soon-to-be broken heart.

Turning in her resignation had been surreal. It was amazing how things had changed so drastically in such a short time. Suddenly this job, which had always represented freedom and possibility, had become confining, keeping her away from where she wanted to be. It took a month to finish the trips she had been assigned prior to turning in her letter of resignation. Her final flight from Amsterdam to New York (she thought it fatefully circular that Amsterdam had been her first international flight all those years ago and now was also her last) had been bittersweet.

She felt a slight pang as the last straggling passenger exited the aircraft, but when Quil's face flashed through her mind, she could not help but grin. She nearly dislocated her shoulder in her haste to extricate her suitcase from its stowage. She had loved her job—would not trade all the experiences and memories for the world, but she felt completely at peace with her decision. That chapter of her life, though a great one, was finished. Bidding _adieu_ to the friendly skies was surprisingly easy.

Having lived mainly out of suitcases for years, neither Claire nor Adam had stockpiled many belongings, and years of traveling the globe had made them experts on packing light. They had joked for years that anything they could ever need would easily fit in the very well-traveled and scuffed black roll-aboard suitcases that they used for work. Intent on starting over, they agreed each to take only their trusty roll-aboard bags. Everything else they had accumulated over the years was simply donated or tossed.

Adam, with a stroke of brilliant luck, had sold his apartment to an up and coming New York City lawyer who had sat in Adam's Business Class section on a flight back from Munich. The quite possibly too cheerful for his own good lawyer had happily drawn up papers within 24 hours of seeing the place, saving an extremely grateful Adam a monumental amount of hassle and giving him a great deal on the place to boot.

And suddenly they were leaving. Claire watched Adam lock the door to the apartment, and a shiver ran through her as she realized that all she had was now contained in the beat up black suitcase by her side. She wore a periwinkle wrap dress under her black trench coat, which she snugged a bit tighter in the cool air. Her years in the industry had taught her the intrinsic value in both looking and acting nice while traveling. A well-dressed, polite person was always treated much better than an un-showered person in ratty pajamas. Plus, she wanted to look as pretty as possible when she arrived in La Push, as if that might tip the scales in her favor; she thought the dusky blue complemented her russet skin and deep brown eyes.

They hailed a cab to take them to the airport, something both of them had done countless times. It was strange to think that this was the final step of that particular dance.

Neither of them had actually had to purchase a plane ticket in years. They had turned in their airline IDs after their last trip, so the amazing privilege of flying for free was no longer theirs. The process of checking in and clearing security was far more cumbersome now that they were normal revenue passengers, and Claire found herself a bit nostalgic for the special employee lane where one never got stuck behind a family lugging three children, three carseats, a stroller the size of an SUV, and fourteen bags.

Their flight was direct from New York to Seattle, and Claire spent most of it gazing out the window, lost in thought. They gained three hours with the time change, so it was only midmorning when they loaded their bags with practiced ease into the trunk of the rental car and started the long drive to the coast of the Olympic peninsula, the same roads that Claire had traversed so often during her college years.

Driving the familiar roads soothed Claire's anxiety, and, despite the nervous twitching of her stomach, she felt more serene and peaceful than she had in years. This was where she needed to be.

It was not until she passed the first few houses of La Push that she realized she had no idea where to go. Her parents' house had been uninhabited for the last five years and was probably falling into shambles from lack of care. She momentarily cursed herself for not having taken the time to hire a caretaker before her departure all those years ago. The thought of her childhood home slowly decaying from leaks, damp rot, and mold caused her eyes to fill, but she blinked the tears away before they fell.

Without conscious thought, she found herself turning onto the lane to Sam and Emily Uley's home. She had not spoken with her aunt or uncle in years, but she knew they would be glad to see her regardless. She had never met anyone sweeter or more forgiving than her Aunt Emily. A slight swirling of guilt joined the nervous butterflies in her stomach. These people had loved her and she had completely abandoned them. Emily had been devastated about losing her sister, but Claire—her closest family—had run off, afraid of her own demons back in La Push, and had never even bothered to check in with Emily, see how she was holding up. She had been young and stupid, to be sure, but the guilt continued to tap at her soul at a steady largo tempo.

Well, nothing could be done about that now. She put the car into park at the base of the Uley's driveway, noticing the extra cars already parked there. Claire took a long, deep breath before looking over at Adam, who had been graciously silent for most of the trip, letting Claire mull over her own tempestuous thoughts.

"Ready to meet my crazy family and all their friends? Looks like a party. Just forewarning you, some of them might not like me too much anymore for leaving. I'm not entirely sure what kind of reception we'll be getting here, and they are a little weird about outsiders at first—so don't take it personally, ok?" The words spilled out quickly, betraying her nerves, and Adam just smiled encouragingly at her.

"Bring it on. Let's do this." With another deep, calming breath, Claire shoved the car door open and stepped out into the muddy gravel, adjusting her weight so that her black heels did not sink completely into the soggy ground. She smoothed her blue dress and grabbed her jacket from the backseat.

They could hear faint laughter from inside the house as they approached. Adam gave her hand a gentle squeeze when she hesitated outside the door. She had never knocked here before—usually she had just walked right in, but that somehow seemed rude, considering how long it had been. She weakly smiled back at him and then purposefully raised her hand and knocked.

It sounded like someone said, "What the heck? Who knocks here?" but the sounds were muffled. Suddenly the door swung open and she was face to face with her aunt. Emily just stared at her for three long heartbeats before the unscarred half of her mouth lifted into a beautiful smile, and she dragged Claire unceremoniously over the threshold into the crowded house, Adam tentatively stepping in after them.

The mass of familiar faces fell into complete silence as they stared at her in shock. The butterflies in her stomach felt like they were now powered by jet engines.

Embry was the first to move, rushing toward her, wrapping her in a gasp-inducing bear hug, and muttering what sounded like "thank God." With a light kiss on the top of her head, he dashed off out the door and toward the woods behind Sam and Emily's house with barely human speed, quickly disappearing into the dark interior.

His abrupt departure seemed to snap everyone else out of their stone stupor, and she was bombarded with hugs. Sam and Jared had just been getting ready to start the grill outside, so the crowd seemed to flow that way.

Emily, who had flitted about readying a picnic table full of food and batting away impatient werewolves with smacks from a wooden spoon that she wielded with deadly accuracy, had come over six separate times to hug Claire, gushing about how grown up and womanly she had become.

Needing little prodding from Claire, Emily was pointing out the new additions, Seth's wife and new baby and the shrieking twin toddlers running amok, whom she identified as Leah's. Leah had finally, after many years of effort, managed to stop phasing long enough to get pregnant. The rambunctious duo seemed to have inherited their mother's feisty demeanor. Their father, a tall, lean, red-headed man, was the picture of serenity—calm, cool, collected, and utterly at ease amidst the chaos. He seemed a perfect complement to Leah's fire.

Emily was still talking, something about Jared's oldest son's growth spurt and tell-tale fever, when the back of Claire's neck tingled. She turned abruptly away from her aunt, whose voice trailed off, just in time to see the most beautifully familiar face emerge from the forest.

Her eyes met Quil's and the rest of the world simply stopped. Everything but Quil ceased to exist and she was aware of absolutely nothing else. She did not notice the entire crowd, including Leah's terror-like three year olds, fall silent. She did not notice the hesitancy in Quil's stance, unsure as to his reception. Neither was she aware of his gaunt face, the dark circles under his eyes, or the fact that he looked like he had just spent a week in a cave.

In that moment she could do nothing but meet his eyes. Claire could not say how long they stood there, she statue like in the middle of Uley's yard, he standing at the edge of the forest, some thirty feet away. The trivial aspects of time and space mattered not—nothing existed outside of the two of them.

The blood thrummed through her veins, making her feel more alive than she had in years. She continued to stare at him. It was a second, it was hours, it was several heart pounding days. The moment seemed to span a perfect eternity.

Suddenly it was over and she was flying. She had already closed half the distance before she realized she was running. She was barely aware of kicking her shoes off in impatience when the heels starting sinking into the mud. Her bare feet were pounding over the sodden earth faster than she ever thought they could move, and she was flinging herself through the air.

She crashed into his chest, and he stumbled back several steps as he caught her. Her arms locked around his neck, and he held her tightly to him, her muddy feet dangling a foot above the ground, and her face burying itself in the curve between his chin and collarbone. Neither spoke, and for another endless moment they simply clung to each other, their silence saying more than any words.

When Quil finally loosened his hold and began to lower her back to earth, Claire did not know how long they had been standing there. A rushing wave of tingling _rightness_ radiated through her from her slowly flipping belly out to the very tips of her fingers and toes, making them prickle hotly.

Her knees felt uncharacteristically wobbly as she once again made contact with the ground, finally broadening her senses enough to take in her surroundings. She heard the faint murmur of whispered conversations behind her and felt the muck from the ground where she stood ooze between her now filthy toes, the cold mud contrasting sharply with the bright flashing heat coursing through her.

Quil's voice brought her back fully. "You're back." He murmured, his voice huskier than usual, as if out of use.

She took in the sunken eyes and more prominent cheekbones. He looked sick, as if he had not slept in days. She brushed her fingertips gently over the dark bruise like shadows beneath his eyes.

"You look like hell, Quil. What happened to you?"

An emotion she could not identify flashed through his eyes before he closed them and ducked his head. He leaned down, touching his forehead to hers and breathed in deeply, as if trying to re-identify himself with her scent. They stayed like that for several heartbeats before he pulled back and looked at her. He smiled, but it looked off—like his lips and cheeks were not sure how to form the expression anymore.

Claire frowned briefly. "Oh, Quil." She cocked her head to the side, looking at him closely, as if she could read all his troubles with a glance, but this new broken looking Quil puzzled her. She slipped her hand into his large warm one as she had done so many times before, and they started walking back toward the party—the crowd humming with whispers and heavy glances.

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More to come soon! Hope you enjoyed this! I would love to hear your thoughts! Thanks!


	4. Chapter 4

**Coming Home Chapter 4**

And here is a HUGE chapter for you! It's two sections, but they seemed too short to stand on their own, so I just put it all as one long chapter. I hope you enjoy. Nothing like a little confusion, angst, and sexual tension to spice up a story! hehe! Read, enjoy, review!

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Claire was confused by their reception as she and Quil rejoined the group in the Uley's yard. Emily's eyes were tearing up, and she was dabbing at them with a paper napkin. The pack members looked oddly relieved and kept coming up to Quil, hugging him and slapping him on the back, telling him how good it was to see him, as if he had been the one who had left. She could not help but worry about what had happened to him to cause his unhealthy appearance. Quil remained quiet though, responding only briefly when required.

He was still clutching her hand, as if she might run off again, but Claire did not mind in the slightest. She spotted Adam, standing off to the side by himself watching them, and squeezed Quil's hand, dragging him over to where her good friend stood.

Claire was so ecstatic that her two favorite people in the world were finally meeting that she was oblivious to Quil's eyes and mouth tightening and his hand slipping out of hers.

"Quil, I want you to meet Adam. Adam, this is Quil!" She introduced the two of them, her eyes bright with excitement and blind to the sudden tension among the three of them. Quil nodded shortly and shook Adam's hand.

Adam gave Claire a slightly exasperated look, as he shook Quil's hand.

"It's great to finally meet you, Quil. Claire's told me so much about you." Claire thought that was rather generous, considering that she had purposely not talked about Quil for years, trying to distance herself from those memories, but she said nothing.

"Yeah, she mentioned you in her letters." Quil was polite, but there was something dark in his voice that made Claire frown up at him. She gazed back and forth between the two of them and could not for the life of her understand the glimmer of animosity that was suddenly present.

The heavy silence that followed was interrupted when Emily arrived to drag Claire over to meet Seth's new wife and daughter, shooting a strange warning glare at Quil as she latched onto Claire's arm. Claire pursed her lips and looked back and forth between her apparently crazy aunt and the now unpredictable Quil.

With a shrug, Claire followed and spent the next few hours with the sneaking suspicion that the pack members were trying to keep her distracted. She had vainly tried to catch another glimpse of Quil, but he must have left. She felt a pang of hurt at his disappearance, which evolved into a whirling black hole of guilt, sadness, and worry in her stomach.

He had seemed so happy to see her at first, but now she wondered if their reunion had been less earth moving than she had thought it was. Perhaps Quil hated her for leaving, abandoning him and all their friends. Maybe he had remembered her differently and didn't like the changes. Maybe seeing her again was a disappointment. Possibly he was so busy with his own family now that he did not want to see her at all, but had appeared briefly out of some sense of obligation. The thoughts swarmed through her tired head, trying to make sense of Quil's strange and bewildering actions.

Finally, Claire stood up from the picnic table where Jared's wife Kim was bemoaning living in a house with a werewolf and four teenagers.

"I'm exhausted." Claire declared, more frustrated with her lack of understanding on the Quil front than actually tired. "I'm going to find Adam so we can get going."

She paused for a moment, wondering where they were going to stay tonight. She was just wondering if her parents' house was still a viable option when Kim chimed in.

"Oh, you're headed back to your house then? Go on home. Emily and Rose went over about an hour ago to get it aired out for you. They're probably still there." Kim made shooing motions with her hands.

Claire happily entertained the idea that her house was not rotting from the inside out as she said her goodbyes to the women at the table. She waved to the pack, most of whom were still crowded around the grill where Sam was flipping what had to have been the 400th hot dog. Adam was being interrogated by a group of teenagers, all but one of them belonging to either Sam and Emily or Jared and Kim, about life in New York City. She felt a little guilty about leaving him to deal with her crazy friends, but he seemed well enough at ease.

Adam remained silent on the short drive over to Claire's old house, but she was too distracted with her own convoluted thoughts to notice. There was a blue car parked out front, which Claire figured probably belonged to Emily.

"Emily?" She called, opening up the front door tentatively. She had not stepped foot in her old house in years and stopped in the foyer, shocked at its appearance.

Nothing had changed drastically, but it looked newer and different. The flooring was the same shade and pattern it had always been, but it was obviously new. The walls were freshly painted, the old chipped spots and stains now gone.

Stepping further in, she gaped at the newly furnished living room, the carpeting back to its original vibrant shade of blue instead of the sun faded color it had been four years ago. Along the wall was an absolutely enormous bookcase with all of her hundreds of language texts catalogued on its beautiful oak shelves.

"Lovely, isn't it?" Emily appeared in the living room, her sixteen year old daughter Rose trailing behind her, apparently still as painfully shy as ever.

"Where did all this come from?" Claire asked, still gazing around in amazement.

"Quil, of course. He went through a remodeling phase—bought the Clearwaters' old place and completely redid it! After that, I guess he was looking for another project, because he spent all his time here. I think he was trying to make it look like it did… before. You know." Emily trailed off, apparently not wanting to mention Claire's mother.

"It's beautiful. It's just like when I was little, only better. And this bookcase is incredible! Did he build this?" She was running her fingers over the smooth, polished surface of the bookshelves, amazed at how intricate they were.

"Yes—took him months to get it just right. You know how he gets when he has a project."

"Wow, I don't even know what to say. I was so worried that I had let this place fall into complete disrepair, and here he was fixing everything while I was away. He didn't have to do that." Claire's voice was tight as she carefully examined the spines of her old books, not wanting to look at the others in case she started crying.

"Of course he didn't have to. But he's Quil." Emily's voice held a note of disapproval, but Claire couldn't tell if it was directed at her or at Quil. Emily sighed and continued. "I opened up the windows to let some air in. And I put clean sheets on the beds," she paused a bit at that and glanced calculatingly between Claire and Adam, "oh, and Rose dusted a bit. Quil's a dear, but no good with dusting. Now there's nothing much for food here, but I put a casserole in the fridge for you. Oh, and a carton of milk."

Claire could not help but smile at Emily's generous welcome. "Thank you, Emily. This was way too much—you shouldn't have done all this. Thank you." Emily just smiled and waved the protest aside.

"Now, we better head back. No telling what those men will try to grill next if the hot dogs run out." Emily rolled her eyes in an affectionate way, kissed Claire on the cheek, nodded to Adam, and dragged her still silent daughter out the door.

Adam tried to start a conversation about Quil and the other occupants of La Push, but Claire claimed exhaustion, and he let it slide. She checked the guest room and found the bed made up with fresh sheets, so she helped Adam settle into the room. She double checked to see if there were towels that had been washed in the last five years and discovered that her aunt was a veritable saint.

Once she was satisfied that Adam was comfortably settled, she opened the door to her childhood room, wondering if Quil had altered anything in there. It appeared unchanged, the posters still hanging on the walls and her old pictures still sitting on her desk.

She fingered a snapshot of her and Quil, taken at her high school graduation party. They both looked so young and vibrant, faces glowing as they grinned cheekily at the camera. Quil's face was full and healthy, with no trace of the gauntness, hollowed cheeks, or dark circles that she'd witnessed today. Her own face looked fuller, more childlike, and it struck her how very much she had changed, how different she was from her eighteen year old self.

A wave of nostalgia rushed over her, as she remembered all her years spent in this room. She recalled her mother coming in here and chatting with her, trying to get her to talk about boys and laughing when Claire would blush and mumble. That had been before she had gotten so sick and could no longer manage the stairs.

She remembered the time in junior high when she had come down with a nasty case of the flu, and Quil, who was immune to most diseases because of his scorching temperature, had sat with her for hours, holding out the trash can for her to throw up into and wiping her face with a cool rag. She had been so embarrassed, but he had just shushed her and rocked her to sleep like he had when she was a little girl.

She had twenty years of memories in this room, and she found it simultaneously unsettling and soothing to be back here. The long day of travel and reunions had been tiring, and Claire soon found herself climbing into her childhood bed, made up with fresh sheets that smelled faintly like Emily's house, and slipping into a deep, comforting dream world.

*** *** *** ***

Bright rays of sunshine penetrated her eyelids, and Claire groaned as she slowly came back to consciousness. As usual, it took her a minute to figure out where she was, and she shot out of bed when she remembered that she was back home in La Push.

Once up though, she remembered that she did not know what she was even doing here. Visions of disastrous encounters with Quil made her wince, and she grumpily wrenched open her dresser drawer to see if she still had clothes here. Pulling an old sweatshirt over the camisole she had slept in, she wandered downstairs in search of her morning coffee.

It did not occur to her until she had almost reached the kitchen that no one in her family had ever drunk coffee, so her quest was doomed to failure. She pouted a little as she entered the kitchen, and then stared around in shock.

The faded, peeling linoleum had been replaced with shining yellow tile, and the old refrigerator had been replaced. But what she could not stop staring at was the new cabinet. The wooden door of the cabinet just to the right of the sink had been replaced with a glass fronted door, behind which she saw her mother's entire shot glass collection.

Mrs. James had collected shot glasses for the majority of her life, but they had mainly stayed in a box until her later years. During her long battle with cancer, she had rediscovered her collection and washed up the entire lot. She thought it hysterical to throw back her medications from a shot glass. She would measure out the necessary amount and pour it into one of her dozens of shot glasses. Then she would give a mocking "cheers!" before tossing back the drugs. She was adamant that everything tasted better from a shot glass, and this way she could pretend it was tequila.

Claire had thought she was insane when she first came up with the plan, but Quil had thought it was brilliant. He used to bring over bottles of juice on the days he would stay with Mrs. James, and he would take shots with her whenever she took her meds. It had become rather endearing. They would do anything to make her mother laugh during those days.

Now all those shot glasses were washed and polished, displayed in all their glory behind the glass door. Tears filled Claire's eyes, and she sunk onto a chair at the kitchen table, resting her head in her hands.

A thump and muffled curse jerked her out of her reverie, and she looked up as the door to the kitchen flew open. Quil wandered in, balancing a huge box with one arm and rubbing his forehead with the other.

"Oh, hey, you're up. Sorry—hit my head on that damn gutter again. I should really raise those up a few inches so I don't keep doing that." He muttered.

She just stared at him, wondering if she was still dreaming or if the real Quil, who had hugged her fiercely as he welcomed her home before blowing her off and leaving without saying goodbye, had really just appeared in her kitchen.

"I thought you'd still be asleep actually. You never were much of a morning person." He seemed to sense the awkwardness and his words seemed a little stilted.

Claire smiled very faintly. "Yeah, well, it's almost noon in New York. Plus I forgot how bright my room gets. Stupid east facing windows." Her voice trailed off with tell tale grumpiness, and Quil laughed lightly.

"Brought you a present!" He teased, quirking his eyebrows up and down. The very under-caffeinated Claire grunted noncommittally, which Quil took as license to continue.

He tossed something at her head, which she caught reflexively, while he pulled out a small black appliance. She gasped and looked down at the most beautiful gift she could imagine.

"You brought me coffee! Oh my gosh, I love you. How did you know?" She realized she was babbling and quickly shut her mouth.

Quil smirked as he deftly grabbed the bag of coffee out of her hands and set up the machine.

"I could smell it on you yesterday. You have to drink a lot of it, for it to be that strongly mixed in with your scent. I thought you might appreciate having some, since I know there isn't any in the house, and God knows La Push doesn't have a Starbucks." The look he gave her at that made Claire laugh.

"You are 100% right. I'm a complete addict. Thank you _so_ much. Seriously. You have no idea. I am worthless without coffee. I can't function! I can barely form complete sentences—listen to me here! Ugh!"

Quil just laughed and said nothing, but five minutes later he was shoving a mug full of steaming coffee under her nose. She groaned appreciatively and raised the cup to her lips, shaking her head when he asked about cream or sugar.

"No, no, black is perfect. Wow, this is actually pretty good. I would have been satisfied with a grainy cup of badly brewed swill, so long as it had caffeine. Are you a closet barista?" The influx of caffeine made her almost giddy, and she smiled widely at Quil as she downed the entire mug in less than two minutes. Giving him a cheeky wink, she held it out for a refill.

Laughing at her sudden good mood, Quil topped off the cup, and handed it back to her as he sat down at the table next to her.

Contentedly sipping her coffee, Claire found herself nostalgic for the days when it had always been this easy with Quil. She wondered what exactly had changed and whether it was her fault.

Quil appeared slightly less haggard today. His face was still gaunt, though she supposed that was not something that changed overnight. The dark circles, however, appeared marginally lighter, and his dark eyes were back to their normal intensity and luster. The familiar grin was back on his face, and it looked much more natural than it had the night before.

"You look better today." She commented. He shrugged. "Where did you run off to last night? I didn't even get a chance to say good night." He shrugged again, and she rolled her eyes at his lack of response.

"All right then. I'll forgive you, because you brought me coffee. You should know I'm not always this easily swayed though." She warned, eliciting a warm laugh from Quil.

"Oh, believe me, I know!" Quil shot back, still chuckling. "I'll be good, I promise." He gave her a super serious puppy dog expression and solemnly crossed his heart with his index finger.

She laughed again, thinking vaguely that she had laughed more this morning already than she had in years. "So I hear that you're to thank for making my house look like it belongs in a magazine. It's incredible, Quil. You really didn't have to do that—but thank you."

He shrugged off the praise. "It was no big deal. I was looking for a project and thought this would be perfect. I spent so much time over the years that it feels almost as much like home as my own house. I wanted something to do, and I didn't want this place to fall into pieces…" He looked uncomfortable for a moment and fiddled with the edge of the table.

"I didn't know if you were coming back, but I thought if you ever did, you wouldn't want this place to be rotting away. You know, memories or whatever." He didn't look up at her but continued to play with the table.

"Well, you were right. I did come back. And I wouldn't have wanted this place to have rotted away, though I didn't really think about it until I got back yesterday. I'm glad you did." She spoke softly and caressed the rim of her coffee cup with her thumb, conscious of Quil's proximity in an almost visceral way that she never had been before.

"I missed you." He said quietly, still not looking at her. An aching pang clutched at her chest as she looked up at him.

"I missed you too, Quil." She whispered. Their eyes met and the connection between them was almost tangible. Claire felt her face flush and was physically aware of the blood pulsing hotly through her veins. A warm ache began low in her belly and twisted slowly inside her.

Like before, all concept of time vanished as they gazed into each others eyes. Claire felt an overwhelming wave of surety that this was exactly where she belonged. Nothing anywhere in the world could compare to the sense of wonder and perfect contentment that she felt just sitting here with Quil. All traces of yearning and loneliness were banished, simply by looking into his hypnotizingly deep eyes.

Neither could break away from the heated gaze, and Claire felt dizzy as his dark eyes burned into hers. He leaned almost imperceptibly closer and she unconsciously followed, the distance diminishing so slowly that she was barely aware of the change.

Her heart was pounding, and she could feel its steady throbbing in her eyes and ears. His eyes were blazing into hers, telling her everything she had dreamed of hearing. She couldn't breathe.

A loud curse made them both jump, their connection rent apart. Claire closed her eyes at the sudden loss, and tried to regulate her breathing.

Adam stumbled into the kitchen, wearing only a pair of blue boxer shorts, oblivious to the effect his entrance had on the kitchen's occupants. He scrunched his face up as the morning sunlight hit him and gave a pitiful moan that Claire recognized from years of experience as a desperate need for coffee.

Rolling her eyes in exasperation, she stood up from the table, winded by a feeling of physical loss as she crossed the kitchen. She grabbed another mug and filled it with what was left of the pot of coffee Quil had brewed. She shoved the cup into Adam's hands and pushed him into a chair, automatically adjusting the cup in his hands to prevent it from spilling as he dropped heavily into the seat.

When she glanced up again, Quil was scowling, which caused her to frown. He stood abruptly, not meeting her eyes.

"I gotta run. Work and stuff." He muttered, running his hand through his short black hair.

"Oh, okay." She answered, utterly bewildered by his behavior. "Will I see you later?"

He finally looked up at that and sighed. "Yeah, Emily's making lasagna tonight. Come, yeah?" He looked at her with an odd expression on his face, something akin to resignation, like he expected her to say no.

Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion as she tried to decipher his conflicting signals. "Yeah, of course. We'll be there."

Quil snorted quietly at that and looked up at the ceiling, but when he looked back at her his face was clear. "I'll see you tonight. Bye, Claire." He paused, letting his voice roll over her name, then turned sharply and left.

Claire sank into the chair previously occupied by Quil, shaking her head, utterly mystified by what had just happened.

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So, what's the verdict? Hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I loved writing it. Thoughts, comments, suggestions? Thanks so much to all of you who have reviewed! You make me giddy with glee! More to come soon!


	5. Chapter 5

Coming Home Chapter 5

Sorry that this chapter took me so long-- it was transition-y and took me a long time to flesh out. I would like to give a quick shout out to TakeGuess, who was bugging me about this chapter (thanks!) and motivated me to pull this story back up and start working on it again. I hope you enjoy this chapter-- there's no Quil actually in it and lots of Adam (whom I love, even if some of you hate-- maybe this chapter will change your mind.) but it's all setting up for the next chapter, in which stuff will actually happen. So read, enjoy, and review if you please!

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Claire and Adam sat in silence as they sipped their way through the second pot of coffee that Claire had brewed up for them after Quil's abrupt departure. Quil's mood swings were confusing and frustrating, and the bitter black brew soothed her and sharpened her synapses as she ruminated over possible explanations.

It was very likely that he was angry with her or hurt about her leaving and staying away for all those years. They had been so close that she could easily understand his anger—she had made the decision to leave very suddenly, though the idea had been there for years. And her meager correspondence over the years had done little to show how important their friendship had been to her. Maybe she was underestimating how upset he had been about her leaving. At the time, he had seemed sad but excited that she was going to see the world, something she had always talked of doing.

Was he mad about her leaving in the first place or had she done something unwittingly stupid since coming back? Why was he being so moody? One minute his eyes were warm and welcoming and he was so hot she was nearly combusting, and the next minute he would ice over and storm off silently, leaving her chilled and confused.

They had not even talked since she had come home—nothing more than a few sentences at least. She had not been back for even twenty four hours yet, so she supposed that it was reasonable, but it seemed to her that he didn't want to get into anything. And what was he running off to all the time?

Maybe it was so glaringly obvious that she was in love with him that he could tell just by looking at her, and that was why he kept running away in disgust. That seemed a bit far-fetched—the Quil she knew would never purposely try to hurt her. Though she doubted he could return her interest, she also doubted that disgust would be his reaction; guilt or pity would be more likely candidates. However, she'd been gone a long time. She had changed and no doubt he had too. She could not necessarily count on her ability to predict his reactions anymore.

She wondered fleetingly if Quil had a problem with Adam. She couldn't see why he would, but maybe he was reacting in some long-instilled overprotective streak. Surely, though, a gay male roommate was the best of both worlds on that front—added protection while in the big city with no chance of getting her heart broken. So the overprotective big brother theory seemed a stretch. It was probably just coincidence that he had left at the same time Adam walked in. Clearly, he had needed an out, and that had been opportune.

And why was he looking so hellish in the first place? What had been going on here? No one else looked any worse for wear, so clearly it was a personal thing. Sickness was unlikely, as his 109 degree body temperature burned off most bacteria and viruses before they could do much damage. Maybe it was some sort of freaky werewolf bug—but the other guys had seemed healthy enough, though they had also seemed worried about Quil.

Perhaps she was grasping at straws, and Quil's moodiness was not stemming from anything related to her. There were so many other factors that could be at play—problems with work, family, love… Though, like her, Quil had very little family left. She felt a guilty rush that she did not even know where Quil worked these days outside of pack business, but supposed that, whatever line of work he was in, there could be stressful issues.

As for love, the thought made her pause as her heart twisted violently in her chest. She had been gone for years. Quil could have easily found love while she had been away. He could have a serious girlfriend. Hell, he could be married by now. It was about time, after all. He had been single for years, and he was beyond incredible—any sane female would go for him. She had not noticed a ring on his left hand, but she knew very well that none of the pack wore wedding rings. A few had tried at first, but it was difficult to remember to take them off or find a place to stow them when they phased. After long weeks of frustration and exploding precious metals, they had given up. Everyone on the reservation knew everyone else's business anyway—so it was common knowledge who was taken, without the necessity of jewelry.

The thought of Quil with someone else sickened her to the point where her head spun and her stomach clenched. She pushed away the mug containing the last dregs of her morning coffee, unable to stomach it anymore. This was a little absurd, she could admit. She had no right to feel upset or jealous—it was not like she had some sort of supernatural claim on the man. Pity, that.

Adam noted her abandoned coffee with a raised eyebrow.

"So… how's your brilliant scheme going so far?" Claire's withering glare seemed sufficient answer. "Yes, well, I know you don't like to talk about this sort of thing, and goodness knows I haven't got any sangria to ply you with, so you're going to have to do this sober. Watching the two of you is painful, you know this?"

Claire gave a non-committal grunt, and Adam soldiered on. "Claire, you've got to do something here. The sexual tension alone is making this whole place practically radioactive."

"Yes, well, I'll give you the tension bit, but I'm not entirely convinced it's anything remotely sexual. We were just… close, you know? And now he's obviously upset about something, most likely me. He's going all hot and cold, and I haven't the faintest clue what is going on in that man's head. I feel like I'm watching a tennis match with all these mood swings. This is ridiculous!" Claire stood up and grabbed her mug. She collected Adam's as well, oblivious to his protests that he wasn't finished yet. Claire glowered at the crockery, rinsing them with rather more violence than necessary. With a roll of his eyes, Adam continued.

"It seems to me that he's jealous."

"No, of course not!" Claire objected automatically, willfully ignoring the fact that she had just considered that possibility not five minutes earlier. "I mean, why on earth would he be jealous? It wouldn't make any sense. He's never expressed any sort of interest in me, and it seems far too immature for him to be jealous just because I managed to make a new friend in the last five years."

"Just out of curiosity—what exactly have you told him about me?" Adam inquired, peering into the coffee pot with a hopeful expression, before sullenly shoving the unfortunately bone dry carafe back in the machine.

"Oy! Careful there! If you break that, we're going to be miserable for the rest of our time here. You're just lucky that Quil brought that over for us this morning. I guess he could tell that we were sort of addicted and knew that there was no coffee in the house. Lucky, that, as I hadn't even thought of it until stumbling down the stairs this morning."

"So Quil just showed up out of the goodness of his heart to bring you your life's blood, even though it's been five years with naught but a few measly postcards, in which I'm doubting you regaled him with the mundane details of your caffeine dependency, so he has no reason to know how much of a coffee-aholic you are but was astute enough to figure that out, go out and _buy_ you a freaking coffee maker, and come by your house at eight in the morning to drop it off so that you won't have to go without your morning cup of joe. Now, Claire, _please_ explain to me how you manage to write that off as just good old fashioned friendliness, because from where I'm standing the boy may as well be wearing a huge sandwich board saying "I love you, I need you, I want you, I'm yours!" in bright red letters!"

Rolling her eyes, Claire mumbled a string of denials, which were countered with a disbelieving stare of condescension. "You can't possibly think that Quil brought this over with me in mind, Claire. That was all for you, you deluded nut." Adam argued. His words were a bit snotty, but his tone held little heat and more than a little affection for his singlemindedly oblivious friend.

Feeling indignant and confused, Claire huffed and called Adam several creatively offensive names, before slouching back into a kitchen chair. Adam simply smirked at her obscenities, knowing her well enough to know that she was more frustrated and confused than actually angry. Her arms crossed tightly across her chest, Claire continued to sigh moodily and snort quietly for the next several minutes, obviously thinking heavily. Adam allowed her to mull for a bit before pushing her again.

"You didn't answer my question, you know." He said lightly. Claire's gaze rose to meet his, a somewhat confused expression on her face. "What exactly did you tell Quil about me? Because I am pretty sure that he's crazy jealous, but I'm not sure _why_ he is. Did he have any idea who I was before I showed up here?"

Claire pondered it for a moment. She was sure that she had mentioned Adam in her admittedly shoddy correspondence. She must have told him when she'd moved in, and she was sure that Adam had been mentioned here and there, just random tidbits about work or vacations or their apartment. Again, it seemed incongruous for Quil to get so worked up about her best friend, especially when there was obviously no romantic entanglement.

"Yes, I mentioned you. I'm sure I did. I don't remember all the specifics, but I'm sure I told him about moving in with you, and I'm sure that I mentioned you several other times as well."

"So he knows that we've been living together for a few years?"

"Yes."

"Does he know that we're not involved?"

"Well, of course we're not involved. To start, there's the small matter of me lacking a Y chromosome and the fact that, lovely as you are, I'm not even slightly attracted to you." Adam snorted, but Claire continued. "Besides, I'm in love with someone else. And you, well, you…. Anyway, that's just nonsense. How could he think we were romantically involved?"

"Well, did you happen to mention the fact that I'm gay in any of your long, detailed letters?"

"Ummm…. That is to say, I…. I have no idea if I did or not! I don't remember every word I ever wrote!" She exclaimed defensively, which made Adam chuckle.

"Well, let's be fair then, Claire. He doesn't know that much about your life anymore. You say you've been living with a guy for the last, what, three years? You don't specifically mention the parameters of the relationship, he sees that I've trucked across the entire country with you, and you don't bother with any solid definitions on our obvious closeness—what do you expect the guy to think?"

Claire stared blankly back at him. "Well, I don't know… just seems rather obvious. I thought anyway."

"Well, it's not all on you. Possibly, I could have assisted matters by _not_ showing up in the kitchen without clothes on. But in my defense, I cannot be expected to properly clothe myself without the benefit of at least one cup of coffee, preferably two. Also, I did not know that he was going to be here, all bright eyed and bushy tailed, fixed in a lovelocked gooey eyed staring match with you. You should post a sign or something, hang a tie on the door…"

"Shut up, you." Claire retorted without heat. Satisfied that he'd made his point, Adam just leaned back and stayed silent. "And wipe that obnoxious smirk off your face!"

Adam laughed, "You love my smirk, and you know it."

"Yeah, yeah…" Claire muttered, unable to counter, because it was true—she did love that incredibly annoying smug smirk that graced his face far too often. Other than Quil, Adam was probably the most precious person in her world. She loved him unconditionally and knew very well that despite their bickering and snide remarks, despite the fact that they rarely if ever spoke about their relationship or how they felt, that he loved her too. The emotional spectacle of falling in love and all the wonder and joy of romance and true love were all well and good in Claire's book, but sometimes nothing could quite compare to the wonderful steadfastness of a deep and perfect friendship, unmarred by the passionate ups and downs of romance.

"You know I love you, Adam. I know I don't ever say it, but I do. Just, you know, thought I should make sure you knew." She looked at him very seriously, proud that her squirming was barely noticeable. Talking about emotions made her quite uncomfortable, and she didn't do it often. Adam shifted uncomfortably, also a bit discomfited by the turn of the conversation.

"You don't have to say it—I know. It's not the words, you know—it's… you tell me all the time, Claire, just by being you. And obviously, I love you too. Why else would I hang up my blue polyester and shiny wings just to cart myself across the country and meet a bunch of creepily enormous friends of yours? Seriously, is there something in the water? How do they grow them so gigantic here? You're normal sized after all. There is a hugely disproportionate number of extraordinarily fit men in this town, just saying." Adam, who avoided talking about his own emotions at pretty much any cost, seemed glad to have gotten the sentimental portion of the conversation out of the way and eagerly embraced a new topic.

Claire smiled, happy that they had expressed their feelings and gotten that uncomfortable necessity out of the way. She would, without hesitation, jump in front of a bullet for him and knew he'd do the same for her. Adam was right: some things don't need to be spoken. They both knew and words weren't necessary.

She sighed deeply, realizing that, though words weren't necessary here with Adam, they definitely were required when it came to Quil. She had to get things squared away between them, and words, unfortunately, would be required. She toyed with the end of her long braid, flicking the black hair viciously while considering her options. Obviously, she needed to talk with Quil. However, he seemed extremely jumpy and prone to fleeing the situation whenever the chance presented itself. She worried that she would not be able to express herself properly. She was abysmal when it came to pouring her heart out, and she could easily see the situation going pear-shaped in a hurry. A solid plan and a script would be valuable assets.

She barely glanced up as Adam excused himself, saying something about calling a friend in Seattle to talk about a job. Waving him off, she began crafting a rough version of a confession/explanation speech whose purpose would be to explain all the jumbled emotions that were spinning inside of her. It seemed inconceivable that, as gifted with language as she was, she should struggle with something like this. For years, professors had lauded her ability to weave beautiful prose and sound explanations in a variety of languages. However, enter the variable of her own emotions and the result was inevitably verbal incompetence. She cursed her emotionally stunted brain using a wide variety of rather poetic French obscenities, just to prove to herself that she could still put together a viable sentence. Realizing that her mental quibbling was doing nothing to aid her quest for the perfect articulate confession of true love, she shook her head to clear her thoughts. Unfortunately, where they lead was just as depressing.

A heady mixture of doubt and fear swarmed through her as she worried that if she bungled up this opportunity, Quil might not give her a chance to explain fully. In the past, she never would have believed that Quil would run away from her when she was trying to tell him something important, but she was still struggling to make sense of the juxtaposition of the old Quil and this touchier new version of him.

Frowning, she decided that someone could not change _that_ dramatically, and that the core parts of Quil's personality were definitely still present. That in mind, she decided that, if prefaced with the information that what she needed to tell him was important and that he needed to hear her out, he would do so. No matter his weird moodiness and bipolar responses, he had given absolutely no indication that he did not care for her anymore. And the old Quil would never have done _anything_ to knowingly hurt her. It stood to reason that, though a bit quirkier than usual, he still would not do anything to purposely cause her pain. Deep down, she felt safe in that knowledge. Yes, he was acting in a completely frustrating and confounding manner, but she knew, just knew, that he was still the same man she had fallen in love with. He might be upset about something, but he would always love her and have a special place in his heart for her, albeit probably slightly different and far tinier than the space she would desperately love to procure. That, however, was a problem for another time. The most important issues on the table were to figure out what was upsetting Quil (and hopefully fix it) and to tell him how she felt (and let the cards fall where they would.)

At least she had a plan now. She was quite confident of two things: first, it would be far more difficult than it sounded, and, second, she would, without a doubt, bugger up the entire proceeding into a hereto unfathomably FUBAR situation. With a sigh she laid her head on the table; her next thought was that she was definitely going to need another cup of coffee.


	6. Chapter 6

Coming Home Chapter 6

This is it, folks. I hope you've enjoyed this story as much as I have. Read, enjoy, review!

*****

After spending much of the day rehearsing in her mirror, feeling ridiculous, (and like she was sixteen again) Claire was still frazzled when it came time to leave for Emily's. Adam had spent the rest of the morning on the phone talking with his friend in Seattle. He had been offered his choice of several interesting jobs, so he was pleased with the prospects. He was most excited about an international liaison position where he would split his time between the three company bases, Seattle, Bangkok, and London. He had been chattering excitedly about his new opportunities throughout the afternoon. Claire felt a little bad about her minimalistic responses, but Adam appeared unperturbed and seemed to realize why she was so on edge.

Though she was pretty sure that dinner at Emily's was as informal as ever, Claire found herself spending over an hour obsessing over her small wardrobe. She finally decided on another sundress, this one a deep, dusty pink. Everyone would be in jeans and t-shirts if memory served, but she wanted to look nice, or rather she wanted Quil to think she looked pretty.

She worried over her hair, wondering if she should try something new and different. For the first time she could remember, she thought about changing her perpetually long, straight, shiny black hair. She entertained thoughts of short cropped hair, permed curls, shocking red hair dye, and so on, but, in the end, she brushed her waist length hair until it shined and wove it into its usual French braid. She, like her mother before her, had worn her hair long and plaited for nearly her entire life. With everything else she had to worry about tonight, she did not want to feel out of place in her own body. Playing with the thick tip of her long braid was a nervous habit of hers, and she figured that, in her time of need, she shouldn't be deprived of such simple indulgences.

She was resolved to have a long talk with Quil at Emily's that night. She was not going to let him slip out like the other times. She would be poised and rational and well spoken. She would make him listen, and she would figure out exactly why he was so upset. Once that had been determined and hopefully resolved, then she would tell him that she was in love with him. She was still a little anxious about how he was going to react to that. Eternal shunning and hatred seemed a bit harsh for Quil's style, but thinking that he would scoop her up in big, strong arms and declare that he was madly in love with her seemed optimistic to the point of idiocy. However, she tried to put those thoughts out of her head. Whatever would be would be. She needed to embrace a new _que sera sera_ attitude and achieve inner peace. She doubted those could be accomplished in one day, but she would give it an honest effort.

With one last glance in the mirror, she decided to stop fussing about her appearance—she looked as good as she was going to—and focus on something else. She joined Adam in the kitchen, pouring herself yet another cup of coffee from the fresh pot he had just brewed.

"I figured you could use one more cup before we head off to face your destiny." His expression was half concern and half smirk, an odd combination at which Claire could not help but smile.

"You figured right." Claire tried to configure her features into something at least resembling a confident grin, but she was pretty sure that her efforts fell short.

"Relax, Claire. It's all going to work out. You'll confess your undying love and devotion. He'll confess his. The sky will erupt in a never before seen display of rainbows and shooting stars. Birds will sing sweet songs of forever. And, with any luck, the whole scene will distract your friends just long enough that I can manage to score seconds on lasagna."

Claire glared fiercely at his dismissive attitude. Adam smirked wickedly at Claire's irritation, knowing that she was far too close to the situation to be able to see it clearly. She glared. He smirked. The whole scene was so dearly familiar that, for a moment, Claire seriously entertained the idea of just staying right there, where she was safe and comfortable and would never need to face the possibility of rejection. Knowing, however, that she would forever hate herself if she did, and that Adam would never let her get away with it anyway, she summoned every remaining ounce of courage and sheer stupidity that she possessed, and, pausing only to gulp down the rest of her coffee, she led the way to the car.

Adam kept up a constant chatter during the short drive over to her aunt's house and had her vacillating between snickers and full on belly laughs. Though she was slightly out of breath from laughing so hard, he had effectively managed to disarm most of her nerves. After parking along the side of the gravel road in front of Sam and Emily's house, the two of them dashed through the rain with arms held ineffectively above their heads in an attempt to shield themselves from the weather. Face flushed and eyes bright, Claire threw open the door, allowing them to duck inside.

The house was already full of familiar faces watching Adam and Claire's dramatic entrance with rather more shrewdness than she would have thought them capable. Emily immediately began fussing and rubbing them with a towel she had seemingly conjured out of thin air. Claire begged off the aggressive toweling, trying to rearrange her wrinkled dress into something presentable.

Looking up, she found Quil gazing at her intently, which caused her already red face to flush further. A smile ghosted across his face before he turned back to Embry, who was clearly in the middle of some exaggerated tale, judging by the grandness of his gesturing.

Adam poked her in the ribs, making her inhale sharply and calling her attention back to Emily, who had obviously been talking to her for a bit. She did not, however, notice how Quil's head had turned sharply back toward her when she'd gasped.

Emily drew Claire into the kitchen, where she was soon busy buttering ten huge loaves of French bread, while Emily tore up lettuce for salad. Claire noticed that Quil and Embry were talking to Adam in the living room, and was unsure whether to be glad they were giving Adam a chance or just plain worried. Emily soon distracted her with questions about which European cities Claire had visited. The line of questioning made her feel a bit guilty about the extremely long communication hiatus she'd taken, so she tried to answer with extra enthusiasm, in the theory that she might get extra family brownie points for effort.

In the middle of a rambling answer about Luxembourg, a sudden commotion behind them caused Emily and Claire to spin around with reflexes borne from years of raising children and dealing with all manner of crazy airline passengers respectively. They turned just in time to see Adam flying across the living room and Embry and Seth holding back a struggling Quil.

Pausing only to shoot an affronted glare in Quil's direction, Claire rushed over to Adam, who was sprawled across the carpeting.

"You could have _killed _him, you stupid, childish dog!" She hissed in a voice audible only to the werewolf population in the room and saw Quil wince at her words before he allowed Embry to lead him outside.

Turning back to Adam she switched into first aid mode, gauging the extent of his injuries, relieved that they were only minor. Clearly Quil had not put his full supernatural strength behind the punch, or Adam's cheekbone would have been shattered and the situation far more serious. Cradling Adam's head in her lap, she wiped it with a cool cloth handed to her by Emily and gently pressed an enormous bag of frozen peas, also proffered by Emily, against the massive bruise already blooming across the entire left side of his face.

"You know, Claire, I think you might be right about me not making a very good first impression." Adam's sarcastic tone came out weaker than usual, and Claire laughed faintly, thankful he was at least conscious.

"Of course I'm right, but, then again, I didn't think it necessary to mention that picking fights with guys twice your size is unwise. Obviously, I was mistaken. What on earth did you do to piss him off enough for him to toss you across the room? Quil's not exactly known around the rez for throwing punches—so you must have said something, you stupid, sarcastic fool."

"Just my typical brand of charm. He asked what my future plans were, I told him about that job offer and said I was looking forward to living in Bangkok, he asked if you were coming with me, and I said that I hoped not. Next thing I know I'm seeing stars—my god, that boy can throw a punch!" Adam rubbed ineffectually at the bag of peas attached to his face and gave her a rather pitiful look.

Claire sighed, leaning down and touching her forehead to Adam's hairline. "You should know better than to antagonize him like that." Adam made some unintelligible objecting noises and she shushed him. "No, no. I know. I'm sorry. You going to be all right?"

"Yeah, help me up here, will you?" She dropped a brief kiss on his temple before rising and helping him over to the couch, which was suddenly clear. After settling him on the sofa, she looked around and saw all the silent, searching faces of her friends and relatives. Sam, Embry, and Seth were standing together near the door, and seeing them reignited her fury. Striding purposefully over to them, she started yelling.

"Aren't you supposed to be fast—where are those damn reflexes of yours? Why didn't you stop him?!" She jabbed at Embry's chest before turning on her uncle. "And aren't you supposed to be in _control?_ Good job with that." With that, she stormed out the door in search of the source of her ire.

She did not have to look far, as Quil was standing in the middle of the yard seemingly oblivious to the rain. Much of the rain evaporated upon contact with his skin, and, as he stood there in only a pair of cutoff jeans, he was surrounded by an evanescent vapor that blurred his outline and made him appear utterly otherworldly. She paused for a moment to absorb the sight, stunned into silence by his clearly supernatural beauty. His eyes remained closed, his face tilted toward the heavens, but she knew that he knew she was there. She tried to regain control over her extremely distracted brain and focus on the knowledge that he was undeniably in the wrong here and needed to be thoroughly told off for his egregious offense.

His eyes opened and she found herself fixed with his piercing stare, his eyes as dark as coal burning into her, his eyelashes beaded with raindrops, his face expressionless. She had opened her mouth to speak but found herself at a loss for words, her mind only able to focus on the unfathomably beautiful man in front of her. Words failed her, and one tiny stream of her mind seemed coherent enough to be irritated at that. Who was he, after all, to render her speechless? How dare he stand there and steal the words from her mind! The more rational part of her brain, which normally would ignore such obviously immature, unreasonable, and utterly idiotic tripe, was far too hypnotized by the ethereal beauty of Quil Ateara shirtless in the rain with his eyes blazing into her and turning her insides molten to do its job properly.

"You could have killed him, Quil! How could you do that? You're a grown man—you're supposed to have some self control!" Her voice was strange, even to her, like she was trying not to scream or not to cry, but she wasn't sure which.

Tortured eyes burned into her even more intensely as he responded. "I know, Claire. I _know._ I'm so sorry. I should never have hit him." There was no way to doubt the sincerity in his apology, but his eyes clouded over with anger as he continued.

"He said he was going to leave you! Jet off to Asia and doesn't even want you to go with him! The stupid, smarmy bastard…"

"He's gotten a great job offer there! Why shouldn't he go? He's not _leaving_ me! Besides—he'd be in Seattle often enough, so it's not like I would never see him! And I certainly have no desire to live in freaking Bangkok! Thailand is awesome—so much fun to visit, but I sure don't want to _live_ there! He's not leaving me and this whole conversation is ridiculous! Even if he were, it wouldn't give you the right to beat him up! You know better than that!" Claire's voice had risen in pitch steadily, and she was dimly aware that her shrieking would soon reach a range where only dogs would be capable of hearing it but was undeterred, knowing that the person she was screaming at possessed canine hearing anyway.

"Well, excuse me for defending you! I've watched you lose your father and your mother and leave me, and I sure as hell am not going to just stand aside and watch your snotty boyfriend leave you too! My god, Claire! You just can't ask that of me!" Steam seemed to radiate off him as he yelled right back at her.

"I don't _need_ you to defend me, Quil! I'm a big girl, all grown up now, and I don't need you to fight my battles for me!" Claire could barely see through the haze of fury, frustration, and precipitation. The rain ran in rivulets down her face and plastered her hair to her head.

"I _know_ you've grown up, Claire!" Quil threw his arms in the air muttering a string of obscenities that she couldn't make out before gesturing wildly at her. "I can see you've grown up. ARGH! Why do you keep _doing _this to me, Claire?"

Claire glanced down at herself, realizing belatedly that her pink sundress was now soaked through and clinging to her body, displaying very clearly womanly curves that she definitely had not possessed the last time she had been in La Push. Embarrassed and indignant, she crossed her arms over her chest before yelling back at him.

"I'm not doing anything to you, Quil! You're making up stories where there aren't any! Adam is _not_ my boyfriend and he is _not _leaving me and you are turning this into some sort of sordid soap opera! You're such a drama queen!"

Quil's expression was a comical mix of affronted and disbelieving. "Not your boyfriend… drama queen." He spluttered, apparently unable to form actual sentences.

"Ugh! Obviously I need to snag Emily's cast iron skillet to bludgeon some sense into that thick, thick skull of yours!"

Incredulous, Quil's words exploded out of him like they'd been simmering inside him for years.

"You're the one who left! You left and you stopped writing and then you show up out of the blue with the little boy wonder in there and you're upset that we made assumptions! Maybe if you had taken time to stay in touch we wouldn't have to try to figure it out on our own! Sam thinks you're getting married, did you know that? You cart that lout across the country with you, what do you expect us to think? I don't think you get to claim the high ground here, Claire!"

"I never claimed 'high ground!' You're putting words in my mouth again!"

"Well, someone has to! You don't talk to any of us anymore, so we are left making assumptions if we want to know anything about you anymore! Maybe I shouldn't have hit your new best buddy, but you left—you don't get to come back and have everything just the way it was! It doesn't work that way!"

"Then how does it work, Quil? Because your mood swings are leaving me baffled here. You're hot, you're cold, you're happy, you're mad— you're driving me crazy! Why are you acting like this with me? I'm _sorry_! I'm sorry I left you, I'm sorry I'm a crappy correspondent, I'm sorry I've been a crappy friend, a crappy niece, and an altogether crappy person! I get it—I'm crap. I _know _that, Quil!"

"You're not crap." Quil mumbled, his words barely understandable, the quiet tone almost drowned out by the constant patter of rain.

"I am! And I know that and you know that, but what I don't understand is why you're acting like this! I know I've been a self-centered jerk, but I guess I stupidly thought that you'd forgive me and that you'd actually be happy to see me." Claire's voice broke on the last few words and she was not sure if the wetness on her cheeks was a byproduct of the weather or her own tear ducts; she guessed it was both.

"You drive me crazy, Claire. And I'm confused and frustrated and a little angry—but I am _always _happy to see you. I just don't understand what you're _doing _here. It seems like you just brought Mr. Wonderful out here just to throw him in our faces, to show that you've moved on and don't need us anymore. And that…"

Claire let loose an actual scream at that point, throwing her arms above her head in utter frustration.

"Quil Ateara! AGH! You insanely melodramatic, oversized, colossal _moron!_" Claire's shrieking had suddenly transformed into her flight attendant emergency evacuation voice, and it reached an unbelievable volume usually achieved only by professional opera singers and rang out with such absolute force of command that the huge werewolf in front of her actually cowered.

"I needed to get out of here! You knew that, you know that! And I did and I flew all over the world and saw all sorts of brilliant things and I loved it and don't regret a minute of it, but I'm tired and I'm lonely and I missed you and I just don't _work_ without you."

Claire paused, out of breath from her high decibel outburst. Her screaming had drawn a crowd, and she noted fleetingly that everyone was crowded around the edge of the house watching them. Quil stood frozen and his intense, inscrutable gaze pierced through her balloon of hysterics. Spent from screaming and resigned to the hopelessness of the situation, her ire deflated. She continued in a much quieter and more subdued tone, eyes downcast.

"I came back home to tell you that I love you, Quil. I've loved you all along, but I was too stupid to realize it and too distracted by my mom and school and my crazy wanderlust. Adam's here because he's the one to blame for this whole declaration, because he's the one who clued me in about the whole me being in love with you bit, and he's the one who convinced me to come back here and tell you all this—and I'm sorry. I know that it's crazy and I know that you don't feel the same way, but I…"

Her words were cut off as Quil, finally breaking out of his entranced reverie, closed the distance between them with inhuman speed, and his lips crashed into hers.

All of the well-reasoned arguments she had been about to express flew out of her mind when she saw the look in his eyes, and she gasped as their lips met. One of his warm hands was splayed across the small of her back crushing her almost violently to him while the other cradled her cheek with exquisite gentleness, brushing along her brow and making her skin tingle. His lips were hot as they slid over hers, and the sensation of their rain-soaked mouths connecting was unlike anything she had ever felt. Fiery tendrils of desire radiated out from her lower belly, and her stomach flipped languidly as his lips continued to caress her own, the desperate movement of his mouth communicating more than words could ever quantify. The kiss started hard, full of need and pent-up emotion, but soon it evolved into something quieter and infinitely sweeter.

Quil pulled back slightly and Claire heard herself let out a whimper at the loss of contact. He kissed her lips very softly once, twice more, before pressing his lips gently to her forehead and once more, ever so lightly, against her lips. He pulled back only a few inches and his gaze was like lava, burning into her. Claire had to blink several times to bring herself back to reality. She realized that her hands had woven themselves into Quil's short hair, but she felt no immediate need to move them, as Quil was still clutching her waist.

"I loved you from the first moment I saw you, Claire." His voice was hushed and deeper than normal. Claire stared up at him, lost in the intense emotion in his eyes and the flush of feelings, anchored by the strong arm wrapped around her, and she rose up for a brief moment to press her lips against his once again.

His smile was strange and he looked almost guilty as he continued. "We're soulmates, you know? It's true—just one more legend come true to change my life. I'm a magnet for the supernatural, I guess. My world was literally rent apart the first time I saw you, and I knew then and there that you would one day grow up to be the love of my life. This sounds stupid—I'm sorry."

He looked at her, his eyes begging her to understand and looking terrified that she would run away. She made soft shushing sounds as she stroked his cheek, trying to reassure him with her eyes.

"I'm sorry, Claire. I'm sorry that I've been acting like this, but, oh god, you have to understand that I'm nothing without you. The last four and a half years have been hell for me—and I am so happy that you got to go see the world, but I've been an unmitigated disaster without you, just ask the peanut gallery over there." He nodded slightly at their audience by the house. "And then you finally came back, and I didn't think that you would, and I was such a complete mess, and you had dragged _him _along and I thought… I don't know."

"I… I really didn't know, Quil. I'm sorry—I had no idea it would be like that for you. I'm so selfish! Ugh!" Claire averted her eyes, guilt churning through her system, but Quil's hand guided her gaze back to him, and the look on his face was utterly sincere when he spoke.

"No, Claire. Don't even go there. It was the best thing for you to get out of here, and I know that. I wanted to follow you, I wanted to drag you back here and tell you how much I loved you, but I knew that I couldn't, because it wasn't what you needed. I know that, I really, really do. I never want you to feel guilty for going after your dreams—wasn't I the one always telling you to do just that? And I would gladly go through all of that ten times over if it meant just having this one moment, right here."

Claire made a valiant attempt to smile but tears filled her eyes, blurring her sight. Then Quil's warm fingers were there, brushing them away, and he was kissing her face. Dropping light, ghosting kisses all over her face, wet with forest rain and salty tears, he murmured over and over words of love and reassurance, filling her ears with ardent I love yous and forevers and whispering her name with such absolute cherished devotion that she felt dizzy.

With hot emotion coursing through her veins, she realized with relief that she was not dead inside, like the girls back in New York had claimed, and she was not emotionally stunted. No, she had just been living without Quil, and she could never truly be complete so far away from him. She had never put much stock in the idea of soulmates, but somehow it now seemed inevitable and right, now that she looked back it all. She could not help but cling closer to him, and, with his warm arms around her, she barely noticed the cold Washington rain. She had never felt more alive than she did at that moment. Arms snaking around his neck, she beamed up at him, her smile brighter than she had ever known it could be.

A loud victorious whooping sound caused Quil and Claire to wrench their eyes away from each other and turn to the crowd of friends and family watching them. They both started laughing at Embry's ecstatic exultations, and Claire nearly doubled over in giggles as he broke into an impromptu celebratory dance.

Adam winced when Embry grabbed his arms and dragged him forward, but started laughing in earnest when Embry yelled dramatically, "We could never have done it without you, kid!" With a roll of his eyes, he joined Embry's ridiculous spectacle, which appeared part Irish jig and part war dance. They danced violently, limbs flailing.

Quil picked Claire up off the ground and, spinning her wildly, closed the distance between them and the others. He set her carefully back on the ground before flashing her a radiant and mischievous grin. Kissing her again, this time fast and hard, he ran off to join Embry and Adam in their crazy celebration, his unbridled glee radiating off him and making him appear far younger, healthier, and more beautiful than she had ever seen him.

Emily wrapped an arm around her, squeezing her in a quick one armed hug, to which Claire responded with a glowing smile. As they watched, several other pack members and most of teenagers joined in the mad dance in the rain. Mud flew about as feet pounded heavily into the rain-soaked ground, and the sound of joyous laughter resounded through the air and bounced off the trees. Claire laughed so hard that tears of mirth rolled down her face. And as she stood there, soaked to the bone in the pouring rain, her aunt's arm around her, laughing from deep within her soul as she watched her family, her best friend, and the love of her life flail about like complete fools, she felt completely content and at peace. She was finally home.

*FIN*

Thanks so much for reading! I hope you liked it, and I would love to know what you think-- of this chapter and of the story as a whole. Did it live up to expectations, fall short? I wanted to write something with a good balance of romantic angst and humor, and I hope I managed it. I hope I did the characters justice and that no one was too scarred by my prominent use of an OC and my wandering version of Claire (leaving La Push of her own free will as an adult is rarely if ever seen in fanon and a lot of people seem to dislike her for it) Again, I'd love to hear your thoughts-- and if you've made it this far, thanks for reading! You've been awesome. *blows grateful kisses into cyberspace*


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